


a faithful heart and true

by andreaphobia



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: AU, Childhood, Childhood Friends, Courage, Friendship, Growing Up, Knight, Love, M/M, Medieval AU, Royalty, prince - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-26
Updated: 2013-02-01
Packaged: 2017-11-26 22:28:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/655071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andreaphobia/pseuds/andreaphobia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The story of a prince who meets a blacksmith’s son, and what happens after.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Vi](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Vi).



> A fic ‘n art collaboration between Vi and me, for Kuroko’s birthday! Happy fictional character birthday! :D
> 
> [Here](http://ask-aokuro.tumblr.com/post/41491359354/drawing-done-in-conjunction-with-andreas-fanfic) is the picture of prince Kuroko that goes with part one of this fic, and [here](http://ask-aokuro.tumblr.com/post/41997484187/here-is-aomine-kurokos-knight-in-dim-armour) is the picture of Aomine that goes with part two! ^_^
> 
> Many thanks to Vi for the prompt, and for motivation in the form of her gorgeous art--and, of course, for being my friend. I AM NOT WORTHY.
> 
> This fic would not have happened without Traci, who held my hand every step of the way as well as dragging me kicking and screaming through all the major plot points.

 

 

“Hey, you.”

Tetsuya looked up, eyes wide. All around him, the market bustled—chickens pecked fretfully at the cobblestones around his feet, searching for stray grain, and a plump woman in a long woolen dress brushed past him with a basket of freshly-baked muffins on her arm. (The fragrant scent of them caught his attention and held it for a long moment, until she’d disappeared down the street.)

The boy who had spoken to him looked to be about his age, give or take a year. He had no shoes, but wore a rough, homespun tunic, with a rope cinched around his waist in place of a belt, and there was a smudge of dirt across one of his cheeks.

“Yeah, I’m talking to you.” The boy squinted at him consideringly, head cocked to one side. “You new around here? I’ve never seen you before.”

Tetsuya opened his mouth, then shut it again sheepishly. There was a very good reason the boy had never seen him around before, and it was this: by rights, he wasn’t _supposed_ to be there at all. At that particular moment, he was supposed to be attending his history lessons in the castle library—however, being the youngest and least noteworthy of the kingdom’s three princes, it had been but the work of a moment to capitalize on his tutor’s distraction and simply... slip away.

By now, they were probably turning the castle upside down trying to find him, but Tetsuya was not concerned by this. Eventually, as it always had, it’d occur to one of his frantic minders that he’d probably left the castle grounds entirely, and then they’d send someone down to the village to fetch him—but for now, he was safe. Or at least, as safe as a young prince could be while exploring the village his father ruled over, unaccompanied and unseen.

At any rate, since the boy was still staring at him in puzzlement, Tetsuya felt that he’d best say something.

“‘m new here,” he mumbled, clutching nervously at the linen tunic he’d “borrowed” from one of the kitchen boys. It was a little too big for him, bagging at the elbows and sagging halfway down his thighs, but for a lad of his size that was hardly unusual.

The other boy blinked at that, and then nodded, looking satisfied.

“Thought you might be,” he said, with a grin. “You’re not ‘alf grimy enough to be one of us, yet.” He cocked his head to one side, thoughtful, and then reached over, scrubbing his fingers through Tetsuya’s hair to muss it up. His touch wasn’t quite gentle, but it wasn’t rough, either, and his palms were broad and warm, in a comforting way. (It was strange, but despite the fact that Tetsuya usually shied away from others touching him, he found that he had no objections to this.) Then the boy knelt and scooped up a handful of dirt, reaching out and smearing it into the fabric of Tetsuya’s tunic to discolor it; he had a look of such comical concentration on his face as he did this that Tetsuya hardly dared to interrupt him.

Only after all he had finished did the boy dust his hands off and settle back, satisfied with his work.

“That ought to do it,” he said, cheerfully. “The name’s Aomine—Aomine Daiki. What’s yours?”

Put on the spot, Tetsuya couldn’t help but tell the truth.

“... Tetsuya,” he mumbled, staring at his feet and hoping desperately that that wouldn’t be the spark of recognition that would bring their conversation to an abrupt end. However, his concern was misplaced—the boy named Aomine simply laughed and stuck his hands casually behind his head.

“Tetsu, huh? Okay, then.” He cracked a grin. “You hungry, Tetsu?”

Tetsuya opened his mouth to answer, but his stomach—having long since finished with the breakfast he’d eaten several hours before—got there first, emitting a loud and rather bad-mannered gurgle. He gave it a look of dismay, but Aomine only chuckled and reached out to grab his hand.

“You just leave that up to me, then,” he said, hauling Tetsuya along in the direction of the nearest food stall. Blinking in bewilderment, Tetsuya followed.

*

Ten minutes later, Tetsuya found himself in a narrow alleyway off the main market street, seated on an upturned crate with a piping hot pasty in his hands. Aomine, sitting atop a nearby barrel with his feet dangling several inches off the floor, was already digging into his own pasty with relish.

“You _stole_ this,” Tetsuya said, aghast. He found himself glancing towards the mouth of the alleyway, where he could people passing by, and wondered if someone wasn’t going to come along and whip them both for their crime.

“Uh-huh,” said Aomine, carelessly, and also somewhat muffled through a mouthful of meat and floury crust. He gestured over at the pasty in Tetsuya’s hands, which remained untouched. “Best eat that while it’s hot,” he advised, “else it’s no good anymore.”

Tetsuya swallowed, hard, his eyes going to the pasty in question. It was fresh-made, swiped from the tray on its way from the oven to the baker’s stall, and smelled so amazing that, if he hadn’t been hungry before all of this, by now he most certainly would be. He looked at Aomine again, who just rolled his eyes and grinned. The amusement on his face dissolved Tetsuya’s remaining willpower, and eventually he gave in and began to eat, too.

“My da’s a blacksmith,” said Aomine, as they both tucked in. He took a humongous bite and chewed noisily, ruminating. “But he’s getting on in years, so it’s been hard for him to keep up with orders.”

Tetsuya made an attentive noise, averting his eyes from Aomine’s flagrant disregard for table manners as the other boy stuffed the rest of his pasty into his mouth at one go. (This was followed by another minute of furious chewing, after which he swallowed, then belched loudly, dragging the back of his sleeve over his mouth to wipe it clean, with the look of one who is proud of a job well done.)

“What about you?” he said, once he had finished eating, turning back to Tetsuya and licking crumbs off his fingers with great relish. “What’s your da’ do?”

What _about_ him? Tetsuya thought, despairingly. Once more, he found himself casting about frantically for a convincing lie, but came up empty-handed.

“My father...” he began, then hesitated. (He was pretty sure _My father’s the king, you see_ wouldn’t cut it, but try as he might, he simply could not think of anything else.)

“Go on, then,” Aomine prompted after a moment, with a laugh. “Or don’t you know what your own father does?” But Tetsuya never got another opportunity to answer, for at that moment, they were interrupted.

“ _There_ you are,” said a familiar voice, from near the alley’s entrance.

Tetsuya jumped in surprise, and then wilted a little. He knew that voice, and it meant that today’s adventure was about to come to an end. He looked up, then, to see a knight in full chainmail approaching them, his armor clinking with every step. (In retrospect, it was a good thing Aomine had finished with his pasty, because had he still been holding it when Kiyoshi showed up, it would now have been resting on the ground alongside his jaw.)

“Made a new friend, have we?” said Kiyoshi bracingly, pulling up next to Tetsuya to rest one gauntleted hand upon his shoulder.

Tetsuya looked up at him with a small smile, and nodded. He wasn’t terribly fond of most of his father’s knights—they were stuffy, and strict, and never let him get away with anything—but Kiyoshi was all right. Kiyoshi’d looked after him since he was little, so he was always the one sent to fetch Tetsuya back whenever he escaped the castle, but the important thing was that he never scolded or fussed. He just showed up, took Tetsuya home, and that was the end of it.

Finally done with his pasty, Tetsuya reached up and put his little hand in Kiyoshi’s gauntlet, ready to leave—then he remembered Aomine. He looked back at the other boy, and saw that his face was frozen in terror.

“Am I going to be thrown in the dungeons...?” Aomine murmured, staring shakily up at Kiyoshi.

Kiyoshi threw his head back and laughed, heartily, startling them both. Then he shook his head. “No, no,” he said, brightly. “Nothing of the sort.” He made a shooing motion. “You run along now; I’ve got to take the little prince back home.”

“The little...” Aomine echoed, still gulping down huge mouthfuls of air, like a fish out of water. Tetsuya had the good grace to blush and look embarrassed by this; but then again, his attempt to evade Aomine’s questions had been so transparently awful that there wasn’t much for him to feel bad about.

He waved a bit as Kiyoshi began to herd him away, still tossing shy glances back over his shoulder at the other boy, who continued to sit there in stunned silence.

Just as they were about to round the corner, though, Aomine managed to snap himself out of his trance. He hopped down off the barrel he was sitting on, cupped his hands over his mouth and shouted after the two of them, “So what’s your name, then, really?”

Tetsuya planted his feet to stop Kiyoshi from herding him along, and then whirled round to face the other boy.

“It’s Tetsuya,” he called back, with a smile. “Just that.”

*

Naturally, the next time the little prince had an opportunity to escape the confines of the castle, he immediately used it to try and track down his new friend. It didn’t take long to find him, either—Tetsuya had only been wandering about the village for fifteen minutes, tops, before he spotted a familiar figure leaning against a fencepost, rifling idly through a small coin purse.

After a few moments, the boy sighted his approach, and then leaped to attention, tucking the purse into his pocket and loping over to meet him halfway.

“It’s you, isn’t it?” he said, looking a bit nervous as he drew close to the other. “Tetsu... ya?” He gestured vaguely, as though it wasn’t obvious who he meant. “The prince?”

Tetsuya, pleased to have located who he was looking for, smiled a bit and nodded—though inwardly, it also occurred to him that he’d preferred the way Aomine had treated him _before_ he’d known Tetsuya’s father was the king.

“Just ‘Tetsu’ is fine,” he said, carefully.

A frown creased Aomine’s brow.

“Are you sure? I mean—I didn’t know—you didn’t think it was rude or anything before, did you?”

“... I don’t mind if you don’t,” Tetsuya replied, fidgeting a little.

The other boy hesitated for a long moment, then reached out and gingerly took Tetsuya’s hand. His palm was callused against Tetsuya’s, but shockingly warm, and for some reason Tetsuya felt his face heating up a little.

“Will you come with me, then?” Aomine asked, fumbling for words. “Just f’ today?” He made a face. “My da’ told me to do the shopping, though, so s’pose it might be boring for you—“

“It won’t be,” said Tetsuya, quickly, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze.

He ended up tailing Aomine throughout his errands, looking on with curiosity as Aomine purchased a box of candles from the chandler, counting out the coins for the purchase from his purse with great care. At some point they passed by a produce stall, from which Aomine picked up an armful of vegetables—“For dinner,” he’d said, with Tetsuya listening and nodding attentively. Finally, laden down with food and other goods, they returned to Aomine’s house and deposited everything with his father, but they weren’t home for a minute before Aomine was scampering off again and dragging Tetsuya in his wake.

“Where are we going?” Tetsuya asked, as Aomine led the way—not in the direction of the village proper, but off through the trees behind his house instead. Though there was no path to guide them, Aomine’s footsteps were sure; watching him, Tetsuya had the sense that he had probably come this way countless times before.

“It’s hot out,” Aomine replied, hands tucked casually behind his head, “and da’s let us off for the afternoon.” He flashed Tetsuya a grin. “That means one thing.”

“What?” said Tetsuya, not entirely sure that he was going to like the answer.

Aomine beamed. “We’re going swimming!”

This announcement made Tetsuya stop short so suddenly that he almost tripped over his own feet. He recovered quickly enough, though, straightening up and brushing himself off skittishly as though that might conceal his discomfort. (Judging from the way that Aomine was staring at him, however, he might only have been drawing more attention to himself.)

“I’m not so certain that’s...” he started to say.

Aomine shot him a quizzical look. “You don’t like swimming?”

“It’s not that I don’t _like_ it,” Tetsuya babbled, “it’s just—“ He saw the realization dawning upon Aomine’s face, and tried not to wither away from embarrassment.

“But... can’t Tetsu swim?” asked Aomine, tipping his head to one side.

When Tetsuya didn’t respond to that, he just laughed. “Well, whatever,” he said, grabbing Tetsuya by the arm and pulling him along again. “I’ll teach you!”

Before Tetsuya had time to protest, they came upon a small grove formed by a gap in the trees, with a clear pool of still water situated at its heart. A diffuse light filtered through the treetops, dappling the shore through tree branches which were stirred into movement by the breeze. Across the way a miniature waterfall, just a few feet high, spilled a stream of water in a long curved arc onto a flat bed of rocks, where it sublimated into a fine, glittering mist.

Having grown up largely within the confines of the castle, Tetsuya’s experiences with mother nature were generally limited to what little of it he could see from his bedroom window. As such, the sight of this secret place, in all its pristine splendor, very nearly took his breath away.

“Nice, huh?” said Aomine, absently, with the air of one who had long since come to take sights like this for granted. He was already stripping off his shirt and trousers, not bothering to fold them, but instead draping them over a nearby branch.

Stunned into inaction by the suddenness of it all, Tetsuya could only stare; Aomine, already in the nude, tossed a glance his way and then grinned.

“Going swimming in all your clothes, then?” he teased, before clambering carefully down to the bank to dip his toes in the water.

“I’m not—I _can’t_ ,” said Tetsuya, utterly dismayed, even as some tiny part of him took in the sight of the pool with barely a ripple upon its surface and found it quite inviting.

“You _can_ ,” Aomine countered, stubbornly. “Promise.” Then he pointed at Tetsuya, firmly. “But if you don’t get your clothes off first, they’ll be ruined—and you can be sure I’m not taking responsibility f’ that!”

Tetsuya dithered for a while more, uncertain, before finally whirling about on the spot, reaching around himself to drag his shirt up and over his head. Perhaps Aomine might have been perfectly comfortable naked, but as for Tetsuya, he’d had certain concepts hammered into him from a young age—things like modesty, or propriety, or even just not taking off your pants when in polite company. Nevertheless, they could not go on without his cooperation, and as much as the thought of getting in the water filled him with anxiety, he was loathe to let their afternoon together end here.

At last, naked and resisting the pressing urge to seize his clothes and cover himself up again, he slid down to the bank beside Aomine, shivering a little as a breeze gusted by. (Awkward though the situation was, it felt good to be free of his stuffy clothes, and the cool air on his skin refreshed him.)

“Comin’ along well, I see,” Aomine noted, with a grin. “Now we just have to get you into the water.”

Automatically, Tetsuya told him, “You first.”

Aomine lifted an eyebrow at him, then laughed and took a running leap into the very middle of the pool, where it was deepest. The water displaced by this action drenched Tetsuya from head to toe; he scowled, shying away from the small waves that broke at the water’s edge as Aomine surfaced once more, shaking his head like a dog to send water flying everywhere and laughing up a storm.

“You got me wet,” Tetsuya complained, trying to slick water out of his hair, though he was biting back a smile.

Aomine swam towards the bank, until it was shallow enough for him to stand. “Well, that’s kind of the idea,” he replied, sounding amused. “Look, it only comes up to my waist here. It’s safe!”

“ _How_ safe?” Tetsuya wanted to know.

Aomine heaved a sigh, and then rested his arms upon the shore, staring intently up at the other boy. “I won’t let anything happen to Tetsu,” he said. “I promise. Okay?”

He was so earnest, and his eyes were so serious, that Tetsuya felt himself flushing again. At last, he turned round, shutting his eyes for a moment to steel his nerves, and then lowered himself inch by inch into the water, still clinging on to the bank as though it were a lifeline.

Aomine chuckled to see it, but didn’t say anything else until Tetsuya’s feet were resting firmly on the bottom of the pool and he’d relaxed.

“There, now,” he said, patronizingly, “that wasn’t so bad, was it?”

Tetsuya’s only reply was to turn and shunt a handful of water into Aomine’s open mouth. This led to a rather messy splash fight in which no one was the victor—though since Aomine couldn’t stop laughing he ended up swallowing twice as much water as Tetsuya did, which was kind of a victory in itself. Afterwards, Aomine held onto Tetsuya’s hands while he took his first few floundering attempts to doggy paddle; at this, Tetsuya was only marginally successful, though he did eventually figure out how to float on his back, which wasn’t too awful for a single afternoon of trying.

After _that_ , they lay side by side on the bank for a while, drying off, and talking about nothing of consequence—Tetsuya complaining about his lessons, Aomine about his chores; each of them marveling at the unfamiliar world the other lived in. (At some point, too, Tetsuya noticed that they were once again holding hands, but found that this didn’t bother him in the least.)

It was evening by the time Tetsuya returned to the castle, muddied up and kind of tan all over. He received _quite_ the dressing-down for his trouble and got sent to bed with his supper to boot—but to him, at least, deep down inside, there was no question that it’d been worth it

*

It was hardly proper, of course, for a young prince to make a habit of consorting with the peasantry; however, given that there were two _other_ princes in line for the throne before him, what he got up to was often simply beneath the notice of his olders and betters. While Seijuurou and Shintarou were off learning about diplomacy or practicing calligraphy, Tetsuya was busy horsing around down at the docks with his new friend, or else rampaging through the woods, terrorizing the local wildlife.

Being the little prince’s designated keeper, Teppei became quite familiar with the blacksmith’s young son, almost as a matter of course. He had looked after Tetsuya since he was but a babe; had dandled Tetsuya on his knee when the lad was little enough for it, and also terrified him with his ill-advised Old Man Winter costume on Christmas season. He was kind to the child, and he felt that Tetsuya was positively inclined towards him in turn, but there was one thing that he could never be for Tetsuya, given their stations and his duties—and that was a friend.

So it pleased Teppei to see the young prince’s bond with the blacksmith’s son grow, a friend to him in ways that Tetsuya’s brothers had never been. Reminded him of his childhood days, almost, before Jun had become the court wizard and Riko had taken over from the old master-at-arms...

While he was caught up in reminiscing, one of the little troublemakers came tumbling out of the house behind him, beaming from ear to ear.

“Tetsu!”

The boy looked round eagerly, but was crestfallen to find only Teppei waiting for him. Faintly amused, the knight gave Aomine a small smile.

“Only me, I’m afraid.” He gestured back towards the house. “I believe the prince is still within.”

Aomine’s mouth formed into a round ‘o’ of silent understanding. After a moment or two, he scrambled over to plop down next to Teppei and wait, glancing up at him every now and then, shyly. Teppei tolerated this—he was used to being the target of curious looks, especially whenever he ventured this far from the castle. (Though, to be fair, that had tapered off a bit in recent years, as people grew accustomed to seeing him out and about.)

After some time sitting together quietly, Aomine piped up. “What’s it like?” he asked, legs swinging restlessly. “Bein’ a knight an’ all, I mean.”

Teppei stretched his hands up over his head, working the kinks out of his shoulder with a sigh.

“It’s hard work,” he said, cheerfully. “I travel out out to the nearby villages every now and then, to check on how they’re doing. Sometimes further, when the king needs me to. And, of course, I do a bit of fighting when it’s needed.” He noticed the way Aomine’s eyes lit up at this, and quickly amended, “Not too much fighting, mind you. Just a _little_.”

“And?” Aomine prompted, intently.

“And?” Teppei considered this for a moment, then went on, “And I look after the little prince, of course.”

“Tetsu doesn’t need _lookin’ after_ ,” Aomine said, scandalized. Teppei only chuckled.

“Well, of course not,” he said, patiently. “But I swore an oath to the king, you see, to protect the little prince from anyone who might seek to harm him. At the cost of my own life, if need be.” He leaned back a bit to let his head loll on his shoulders, looking up at the sky. “So that’s my job, too.” Then he glanced back at Aomine, who blinked several times, as though he was digesting everything he’d just been told.

“... Huh,” said Aomine, very slowly.

“Indeed,” Teppei replied. (The boy seemed unusually thoughtful, and Teppei wasn’t sure if that ought to worry him or not.)

After nearly a full minute of silence—an eternity in little-boy time—Aomine turned back to him, eyes bright.

“So,” he said, as casual as a kid with a plan can be, “how d’you become a knight, anyway?”

 _Oops_ , Teppei thought.

*

To Daiki’s great disappointment, however, the townspeople were not impressed with his new ambition so much as... _amused_.

“You’re going to be a what, now?” asked the fishmonger, cupping one wrinkled hand round his ear.

“A knight,” Daiki told him, proudly.

The fishmonger chuckled indulgently; though it was entirely without malice, it still stung a little. “Oh, you are, are you? Well...” He scratched the back of his head, and chuckled again, before getting back to packing up his stall for the day. “Good luck with that.”

It was simply one of the harsh realities of the world in which they lived that Daiki now found himself coming up against: only those born from nobility could be considered for knighthood, and a peasant like him didn’t even come close. It was a blessing—and also the fact that Tetsuya was the littlest prince; the one that, well, didn’t matter all _too_ much, in the grand scheme of things—that he’d even made it this far, that no one had yet stepped in to put an end to their “unsightly” friendship.

“What’s the matter, Daiki?” his father asked, as Daiki was brooding over his dinner and the injustices of life one evening. Hearing that, Daiki just made a face, pushing his stew sullenly around in its bowl.

“Everyone’s been havin’ a go at me,” he said, unhappily. “Tellin’ me I can’t be a knight. That I can’t look out for Tetsu.”

His father favored him with a smile that he was rather familiar with; it was his _humoring my wayward son while he goes through a phase_ look.

“You don’t have to listen to them,” said his father, patiently. “Just... try your best, right? No one can fault you for that, ‘specially not the prince.”

But Daiki only scowled down at what remained of his dinner, then whipped his head back up so fiercely that it made his father jump.

“Can I ask you for a favor, da’?” he asked, strangely intent.

“...What is it, lad?”

“Would you forge me a sword?”

His father blinked, drummed his fingers on the table for a bit, and then heaved a deep sigh.

“You’ve got me now, haven’t you?” he said, with a chortle. “With me openin’ my big mouth, tellin’ you to try your best and all. All right, then—I’ll do one for you. _But_ ,” he went on, before Daiki could jump to his feet and whoop, “only if you get someone to teach how to use it proper.”

Daiki, who had looked rather concerned just then, relaxed again with a grin.

“Don’t worry about that,” he said, cheerfully. “I know _just_ the man.”

*

 Of course, Daiki only knew one actual knight, but he turned out to be easy to convince—Daiki’s enthusiasm was infectious, and at any rate Kiyoshi seemed reluctant to say ‘no’, given that Daiki’s stated motivation for learning swordplay was so he could protect his best friend. Most conveniently, around the time that Daiki got his fool idea into his head, Tetsuya had himself reached an age where he had to start a whole new catalog of lessons: things like formal dancing, or statecraft; all the other lessons that his brothers had been forced to sit through before him. All utterly insipid, according to Tetsuya—and, in the case of dancing, tortuous, too—but it freed Kiyoshi temporarily from his responsibility of looking after the prince, giving him the time to deal with Daiki’s request.

“Classes” were held in a small forest clearing near the castle, with wooden swords that Kiyoshi had scrounged up from somewhere—”Courtesy of a generous friend,” he’d said, while looking slightly sheepish. (As for why they had to be made of wood instead of steel, like the splendid new weapon Daiki’s father had forged for him, Kiyoshi merely answered that he was happy to teach the lad... but not so much that he was willing to die in the process of it.)

However, in Daiki’s opinion, the pacing of their lessons left much to be desired. The first thing they covered was not, as he’d been hoping, how to decapitate people with one mighty swing, but simply on how to hold the damn thing in the first place. Once he’d mastered _that_ , they moved on to defensive stances, and within a few weeks, Daiki was thoroughly bored.

“I thought you were going to teach me how to kill people,” he groused, after another spirited lesson on how to guard if someone was trying to stab you in the stomach.

“Bloodthirsty, aren’t we?” Kiyoshi chuckled, with a sort of paternal air. “Well, yes, we will—but that comes later. You have to learn this first, and you’d best learn it well. Can’t very well protect the little prince if you’re dead, can you?”

He had a point, but Daiki would rather have died than admit it—figuratively speaking, at least. He stuck out his lower lip petulantly, and crossed his arms (which turned out to be slightly awkward, since he still had his sword in hand).

“It’s not like we’re using _real_ swords, though,” he said. “Can’t we do something _interesting_ for once?”

Kiyoshi pinched his chin between thumb and finger, mock-thoughtful, and then gave him a smile.

“Hmm...” he said, lightly. “Well, why not? Go on, then.” He waved at the boy, and then readied himself. “Show me what you can do.”

At that invitation, Daiki bared his teeth in a grin, raised his dinky little wooden sword, and charged.

Ten seconds later he found himself flat on his back, his weapon lying halfway across the clearing and his wrist aching something fierce. He shook himself a bit, dazed, and then went to get to his feet—except he couldn’t, for there was something holding him in place.

Kiyoshi beamed down at him, the point of his sword at Daiki’s throat.

“You see?” he said, ever mild. “You’ve still got a ways to go before you can even think about protecting the prince, lad.”

Daiki glared up at him huffily and opened his mouth to complain—but then shut it again suddenly as something occurred to him, becoming thoughtful.

“... About Tetsu...” he said, slowly.

“Yes?”

He peered up at Kiyoshi, watching him closely. “You haven’t... mentioned any of this to him, have you?”

“Never occurred to me,” said Kiyoshi, breezily.

“Don’t, then,” said Daiki, suddenly fierce—which was probably amusing, since he had no weapon in hand and was still lying on his back helplessly, but Kiyoshi didn’t even crack a smile. “Don’t tell him.”

Kiyoshi studied him for a moment, as though taking his measure of the boy, and then nodded, once.

“All right,” he said, gravely. “I’ll keep your secret.” He pulled his sword back, and then offered a hand to pull the boy back to his feet. After a moment of hesitation, Daiki took it.

“... Good,” said Daiki, a little uncertain. “That’s... good, then.” He looked around for his sword, spotted it lying over by a bush, and then scampered off to pick it up before returning to Kiyoshi’s side.

“Okay,” he said, ready at last, dropping himself back into his defensive stance. He lifted his chin impertinently to Kiyoshi, and then flashed him a grin, toothy and defiant. “One more time?”

“One more time,” Kiyoshi agreed, and swung.

*

Being a prince, as Tetsuya had learned, was something that had both its advantages and disadvantages. Rationally, he understood that the pros of his situation far outweighed its cons—however, there were moments when it seemed otherwise, no matter how objective he tried to be about it. As of late, he’d had the unfortunate matter of betrothals on his mind. He had reached the age for a politically expedient match to be made, as Seijuurou reminded him every chance he got.

Once again, Tetsuya was saved by grace of being the youngest of three, not to mention it was hardly a secret that he was the king’s favorite son—but neither of those things guaranteed safety; they only bought him time.

Nor was Seijuurou’s prodding helpful in the least. He had never met Aomine, but he had enough of a head on his shoulders to infer that there must have been _some_ reason for Tetsuya to always be mingling with the common folk—and as luck would have it, his inference was correct. Tetsuya himself had long since come to the realization that his feelings towards his friend were... out of the ordinary, to say the least... but, with their vastly different stations and other things between them, he hadn’t the faintest idea what he could do about it.

They saw each other less often, these days, with Tetsuya occupied with his lessons and Aomine presumably apprenticing under his father. Contrary to expectation, though, this only made each individual meeting more precious; they treasured their time alone when they could find it, Kiyoshi’s constant presence notwithstanding.

But even the good ser knight seemed disinclined to smother them. He couldn’t escape his duties, but whenever the two of them were safely within Aomine’s humble home, he’d adopted a habit of excusing himself, stepping just outside the door, ostensibly for some air. Tetsuya, for his part, had to wonder if it was intentional. Given that Kiyoshi had all but raised him, and probably knew him better than Tetsuya’s own father did, he _had_ to know—had to have seen the way Tetsuya looked at Aomine, and understand what that meant. He had done nothing with that knowledge so far, but with the threat of it hanging over his head, Tetsuya could not let himself be at ease.

Nevertheless, now that they had been left alone, Tetsuya was not about to let the time go to waste. He looked on as his friend sprawled lazily across his mattress, then joined him, sitting alongside the wall so as to lean against it. They were quiet for a while—not awkwardly so, but rather the kind of quiet that comes with knowing another person for a long time, and being perfectly comfortable with them. He shifted a little; his bare ankle brushed against Aomine’s shoulder, and he thought he saw a faint, contented smile on Aomine’s face.

He did not know what possessed him, at that particular moment, but he found himself saying—in a voice quite unlike himself—“Seijuurou says I’m to be married someday.”

On the bed next to him, he felt Aomine stiffen.

“Married...?” he echoed, after Tetsuya, as though the thought of it had never even crossed his mind. He bit his lip, then, eyes coming fully open so he could frown up at the ceiling. “... Tetsu wants to, then?”

“Of course not,” said Tetsuya, indignant. Immediately, he felt Aomine relax.

“... Well, that’s all right then,” said Aomine, cheerfully enough. “Tetsu’ll just tell them he’s not going to, and that’ll be that.”

As though it could be that easy, Tetsuya thought, wryly. But then again, why shouldn’t it be? There was Seijuurou and Shintarou before him, after all; surely no one would pay any mind to the third son. Surely...

His eyes came to rest on Aomine’s palm, then, as it lay open, resting on the bed. There were calluses lining his grip, where one might hold a blacksmith’s hammer or, perhaps, a sword. It was the hand of a man full grown, not a boy’s, and the realization shocked him a little—how _had_ he missed it? On a whim, he reached out, setting his hand over Aomine’s, then curling his fingers inwards to hold on to it. This was something they had done often, in their younger days; less often as of recent years—but not, it had to be said, for a lack of wanting to.

At the touch of their skin, Aomine sucked in a sharp breath, and then closed his eyes again, relaxing into it.

“Careful, Tetsu,” he chuckled, voice slightly hoarse. He licked his lips; Tetsuya’s eyes were drawn to the movement of his tongue over them. “D’you know what you’re doing to me?”

“What am I doing to you?” Tetsuya asked, softly.

But Aomine didn’t answer; he only gave a quiet laugh, as though Tetsuya had just told a most excellent joke. Then he lifted their hands, joined as they were, to his mouth; Tetsuya held his breath as he brushed his lips over Tetsuya’s knuckles, one by one.

Afterwards he brought Tetsuya’s hand to the side of his neck, where it was warm, and held it there, pressed to his skin. Tetsuya tried to speak, then, but found that he had to first swallow around the lump in his throat. “Daiki...”

Lazily, Aomine blinked up at him. “Yeah?”

“... You never answered my question,” Tetsuya murmured.

Aomine grinned, then, eyes bright with affection and something else—something unspoken. But all he said was, “Didn’t I?”, before letting go of Tetsuya’s hand, and shifting away.

And even after Kiyoshi had come to fetch him home, it remained a mystery—one for Tetsuya to ponder, alone in his bed at night, along with the feeling of Aomine’s hand in his and the faint, secretive smile on Aomine’s face.

*

It was late afternoon a few weeks later when Daiki opened the door and discovered that the person knocking on it was _not_ , in fact, his annoying blonde neighbor coming round for the tenth time that day to ask if Daiki wanted to go to the town circle and look at pretty girls—but instead Kiyoshi, clanking along in his usual suit of armor and escorting a very tetchy-looking Tetsuya, who was himself wearing the ponciest set of dress clothes Daiki had ever seen him in.

“May we come in?” asked Tetsuya, whose tone was as black as his expression, Stifling laughter, Daiki stepped aside to let them in.

Once they were all seated in the front room of Daiki’s house, Tetsuya simply plopped down in the middle of the floor and began ripping at the fastenings of his shoes.

“In _my_ opinion,” he began, sounding perfectly calm and reasonable even as he was stripping himself like a madman, “the invention of dance lessons was one of the low points in the history of mankind.” He paused, then, holding up one of the dress shoes for their inspection. “Would you mind terribly if I threw these into your fireplace?”

“Please don’t,” Kiyoshi chimed in, tucked as unobtrusively as he could manage into a corner of the room. (He still stuck out like a sore thumb, but then again the room wasn’t all that spacious to begin with.) “They’ll have my hide for that.”

Tetsuya huffed, but then merely tossed the shoe grumpily back to the floor.

“How bad could it be?” Daiki asked, still grinning as he watched Tetsuya move on to undoing a few buttons on his shirt—it was done all the way up to his chin, for pete’s sake, that can’t have made it easy to breathe.

“Easy for you to say,” said Tetsuya, haughtily, once he’d loosened his collar enough to let himself breathe. “ _You’ve_ never had to sit through an afternoon of lessons, bored out of your skull.”

At this, Daiki exchanged a meaningful look with Kiyoshi, which Tetsuya missed because he was now trying to roll up the legs of his trousers—except they were so tight that he could barely get the folds up his calves.

It had been three years since Daiki had started his not-quite-kosher swordplay training, and in that time, he’d at least learned how to handle a blade without cutting off his own arm—as long as he was paying attention, that is. That, as Kiyoshi had said, proudly and without a trace of sarcasm, was real progress.

“Well, actually...” Daiki began.

Kiyoshi, still standing over by the wall with his arms folded across his chest, raised his eyebrows. “I thought you said you didn’t want the little prince to know about that.”

“Didn’t want to let me know about _what_?” Tetsuya interjected, looking annoyed.

Daiki just shrugged, a cocky little smirk making its way onto his face. “I’m good at it now,” he said, carelessly, “so it’s fine if he finds out, right?”

“Finds out _what_?”

“Are you, now,” Kiyoshi answered, amused.

“I _am_!” said Daiki, indignant, and ignoring the filthy look that Tetsuya was favoring him with now, for ignoring him. “So can we show him?” He made his eyes as wide and hopeful as he could manage. “ _Please_?”

“Weeell...” Kiyoshi took his time thinking about his answer, though, like as not, it was only because he enjoyed watching Daiki squirm with barely-smothered excitement. “If it’s what the little prince wants,” he said, finally, with a smile. “Though I’m afraid he’ll have to put his shoes back on for it.”

“Why?” Tetsuya asked, immediately suspicious.

Still smiling, Kiyoshi clapped him on the arm. “Come along, and you’ll find out.”


	2. Chapter 2

 

 

The prince and his minder went ahead first, because, as Kiyoshi pointed out, Tetsuya was not exactly appropriately dressed for a romp around the woods. That suited Daiki just fine, since it’d at least preserve _some_ element of surprise about what they’d been getting up to these past few years. The moment they had left, he dashed to his bedroom to pull the sword his father had forged for him out from under his bed. It was a plain but sturdy weapon, made from fine steel—one-handed and double-edged, with a crossguard and an undecorated pommel. A richer man might have sneered to see it, but Daiki trusted his father’s craftsmanship. Would have to trust his life to it, actually, if he was serious about what he was training for—and he’d never been more serious about anything in his life. 

He buckled it to his belt and then left the house, setting off at a run for the forest clearing where Kiyoshi had been teaching him. Along the way he attracted a few curious glances, but the speed at which he was going prevented anyone from striking up a conversation. 

Once there, he spent a nerve-wracking fifteen minutes loitering about, waiting for the others to show up. But if he’d hoped that Tetsuya’s arrival would expel his agitation, he was mistaken; catching sight of his friend as well as his teacher approaching through the trees only increased his anxiety. _Was_ he ready? Well, it was too late to second-guess himself—backing out now would only make him look like a fool. 

“So,” said Tetsuya, rather peevishly, as they came within earshot, “what is this all about?” Then he caught sight of the sword buckled to Daiki’s side, and stopped abruptly. 

All bravado, Daiki smirked and unsheathed it. The edge of the blade caught the afternoon light as it faded, glinting dangerously. 

“That’s...” Daiki was pleased to detect a note of awe in Tetsuya’s voice. “Where’d you get _that_ ?” 

“Had my da’ forge it for me,” he said casually, before giving it a few test swings; the sound of it slicing through the air stung their ears. “Needed something to do when Tetsu wasn’t around, didn’t I?” 

“Did you,” Tetsuya echoed, quietly, eyes still round as saucers. Kiyoshi gave a light cough, and then patted his charge on the shoulder, briskly. 

“You haven’t even seen him use it yet,” he said, stifling a chuckle behind one gauntleted hand. “Save your admiration for later, all right?” Then he gestured at Daiki. “Go on, then, lad,” he said, steadily. “Show him what you’ve learned.” 

Jaw set, Daiki nodded, then moved away from where they were standing, out into the center of the clearing. He took a deep breath, shoulders rising and falling, and then raised his sword, adjusting to its balance by muscle memory. 

Then he swung, and swung again. The blade whistled through the air as he cycled through the stances Kiyoshi had taught him; wanting to impress, every movement was crisp and perfectly executed. He beheaded one imaginary enemy, then fended off a second challenger and ran him through with a flourish. Throughout his routine, he had moved closer and closer to Tetsuya, though taking care to leave a wide-enough berth that there would be no chance of accidentally striking him. 

At last, a mere few feet away from his two onlookers, he came to a stop, plunging his sword deep into the ground while dropping to one knee and bowing his head. Bowing it to Tetsuya, yes—Kiyoshi hadn’t taught him all the details of the knight’s code of honor yet, but he knew enough to understand what it was he was doing. Pledging fealty to the little prince is how Kiyoshi would have put it, and the significance of that action would not be lost on any of them. 

He was breathing heavily from exertion, and there was sweat dripping into his eyes, but a quick peek upwards through his damp bangs revealed that Tetsuya was still staring—stunned, and maybe even blushing a little. Daiki ducked his head back down and bit his lip to keep from smiling, since knights, and by extension knight-hopefuls, were supposed to approach everything with the appropriate gravitas. 

Even Kiyoshi seemed impressed—or at least, not terribly disappointed with his performance. (Which was a good thing, because otherwise Daiki might have wanted to kill himself from shame.) 

“You did good, lad,” said Kiyoshi, dropping his hand onto Tetsuya’s shoulder again, as though trying to snap him out of his trance. “Noticed you’ve been focusing on your footwork, like I told you to.” He paused for a moment, then grinned at Daiki, a little uncertain. “I don’t recall teaching you that little move you used at the end, there, though...” 

“Thought it up myself,” said Daiki, as casually as he could, getting back to his feet and yanking the blade out of the dirt. He wiped the dusty blade off on one of his trouser legs, then sheathed it. 

“Oh, did you?” Kiyoshi answered, good-naturedly, though he clearly wasn’t buying it. Lucky for Daiki, he didn’t push the matter, and at any rate Tetsuya had finally found his tongue. 

“That was...” The prince blinked, and then clasped his hand together, earnestly, all his irritation from earlier forgotten. “...absolutely fantastic. Really, it was.” He waited long enough for Daiki to start fidgeting from embarrassment, before a cheeky gleam entered his eye. “Shall I address you as ‘ser Daiki’ from now on?” 

Daiki was mortified, and even more so when he felt his face burning. “ _Tetsu_ !” 

“Well, you already address _me_ by my first name, so _I_ don’t see what the problem is,” Tetsuya said to him, being deliberately obtuse. Daiki was on the verge of arguing, but then stopped in his tracks—the cat might have been out of the bag when it came to his lessons, but his secret ambition was still that: a secret. 

Just then, Kiyoshi cleared his throat. 

“That was nice, but I think the little prince ought to be getting back to his lessons now, don’t you?” he said, in a strangely pointed tone of voice, though he was still smiling down at them both, in a genial sort of way. 

Tetsuya shook himself a little, unhappily, looking up at Kiyoshi with a frown, but finally nodded. 

“I’ll come by again soon,” he promised, turning back to Daiki. “Later this week.” 

Daiki nodded, awkwardly, with one hand resting on the pommel of his sword. Like the pose he had ended his demonstration with, this was something he’d picked up from observing real knights as they went about their business. Perhaps it really was impossible for him to be a knight—but, he thought, he’d do his damnedest to behave like one, anyway. 

He watched and waited until they had disappeared between the trees, headed in the direction of the castle, and then, with shoulders slumped, he made his way home alone. 

* 

As Tetsuya had promised, he came by later that week, and again the next. Difficult though it might have been for him to peel himself away from his various minders and tutors, he never failed to set aside time for his dearest childhood friend. 

Daiki appreciated the breaks from his training, but on the other hand, he found himself coming no closer to his goal of receiving a knighthood... and on some nights, when it was very late and very quiet, a dark little voice would surface in his head, telling him in no uncertain tones that it was futile—that everything he’d done up to this point had been for naught. To silence it, he could do nothing else but throw himself deeper into his training, trapping himself in a cycle of hopelessness. Still, as the years passed, he became quite handy with a sword—so much so that even his teacher had to give him grudging respect. 

The last time they had trained together in that little forest clearing had been one of his best performances. Having come this far, they were sparring with shields and real weapons, with some light armor for basic protection. Kiyoshi, of course, had his bulk and the weight of experience on his side, but Daiki had the advantage of youth and burning enthusiasm. A few narrow misses with the pointy end of Kiyoshi’s blade had Daiki on his guard, and now they circled each other, each waiting for the other to make a misstep. 

At last, Daiki saw an opportunity, feinting swiftly to one side and then diving low to sweep out a foot across the dusty ground. The movement took Kiyoshi completely by surprise, and he stumbled, which Daiki further capitalized on by slamming his shield into his teacher’s to overbalance him. 

The end result of all of this was Kiyoshi lying on his back, winded, Daiki’s blade held over his throat. For a moment, they were still—neither quite able to believe what had just happened. Then, very slowly, a grin spread over Daiki’s face. 

“Do you yield?” he demanded, shakily, his eyes shining. 

Kiyoshi barked out a laugh at that, dropping his sword with a clank in surrender. 

“I yield, lad,” he cried, “Now let me up!” 

Daiki tossed his weapons aside and grabbed Kiyoshi’s hand to drag him back to his feet. Then he whooped, leaping about with joy; his sheer exhilaration put a smile on Kiyoshi’s face. 

“Did you see that?!” Daiki yelled, punching the air. “I finally bested you, didn’t I?!” 

“That you did,” said Kiyoshi, with real pride in his voice, clapping him on the back. “You’ll make a fine...” he cleared his throat, and then went on, “a fine... swordsman one day, mark my words.” 

Daiki’s smile froze on his face, and then faded a bit. But after a moment, he simply nodded to acknowledge Kiyoshi’s words, and then drew himself away to gather up their discarded gear. 

He was still thinking about that the next day, standing out in the yard with broom in hand as he swept off the cobblestone path in front of their house. He knew what Kiyoshi had wanted to say, knew exactly what words he had taken back, and... well, it _hurt_ . On some level, he understood that Kiyoshi was only trying to spare his feelings, but somehow that only made it worse. It wasn’t fair of him to resent the man, he knew—after all, Kiyoshi was simply being realistic about his prospects—but then again, it wasn’t fair that he couldn’t be a knight, either. Life, as his father often cheerfully told him, _wasn’t_ fair, and he had never felt it more strongly than at that moment, standing in that clearing with his teacher. 

He lifted his head to mop some sweat from his brow with the back of his hand, and then spotted a very familiar silhouette approaching from across the way. Strangely, though, the other was alone—and that was enough to make the hairs on the back of Daiki’s neck prickle. 

“Where’s ser Kiyoshi?” said Daiki, by way of greeting, as soon as Tetsuya had reached him. 

Tetsuya’s expression was sour; he gave a little toss of his head, as if that was so far below his notice that it hadn’t even occurred to him to care. He’d long since given up on his habit of stealing apparel from the servants, but he was at least dressed modestly today—no frills, ruffles, or lace; just a plain cotton shirt and trousers. (His boots, on the other hand, crafted from expensive leather and polished to a shine, still made their difference in stations clear.) 

“Let’s go for a walk,” he announced, imperiously. Daiki could hardly say no when he got like that, so he left the broom resting by the gate, and followed Tetsuya out towards the village proper. 

“Tetsu didn’t answer me,” he noted, casually, as they walked along, tucking his hands up behind his head. But Tetsuya only made a derisive noise, tossing his head once more, as though Daiki was pursuing a subject that was most dreadfully dull and Tetsuya was only humoring him with his replies. 

“I got into a row with my brother,” he said, at last—Daiki didn’t have to ask _which_ brother—”so I decided to step out for a bit.” He gave Daiki a slightly flirtatious look from beneath his lashes, and added, “Besides, I have you with me, don’t I?” 

_That you do_ , thought Aomine, but he averted his gaze anyway. It pleased him to hear that, and yet not having the good ser knight’s presence with them unnerved him a little. But Tetsuya seemed to feel no such anxiety; he strode ahead, leading the way into the market in which they had met so many years before. Now that he knew his way about the place, he hardly needed an escort—but, Daiki quickly reminded himself, he wasn’t simply there to show Tetsuya around. 

The first stall they passed was stacked high with pastries and baskets of bread. Tetsuya paused to sample their wares, then left a few copper behind for what he’d taken. 

“Good?” Daiki inquired, tipping a glance at him as he munched on a meat bun. 

“Nostalgic,” Tetsuya answered, with a small smile. Daiki chuckled. 

As they turned the corner, the village flower-seller swept past, carrying the fresh sweet scent of cut grass with her. Normally, this would have intrigued Daiki, but at the moment it barely occurred to him to give her the time of day—Tetsuya raised an eyebrow at him as if to say, _well?_ , while Daiki studiously ignored him. Down at the end of the lane, the old fishmonger was enthusiastically peddling that day’s catch. The stench of fish mingled with the aroma of herbs and perfumes as well as the faint scent of freshly-baked bread, forming the unique smell of a market at midday. 

It appeared the tinker was in town that week as well, for beside the fishmonger’s stall stood a tired workhorse hooked up to a wagon, with a nest of pots, pans and various knick-knacks strung over its entryway like a curtain. The tinker himself peered out from behind all of this as they passed, ever watchful for potential customers. 

It was a scene that they’d walked through together countless times, soothing in its familiarity, and when Tetsuya caught his eye and smiled a little, he found himself smiling back, despite all his misgivings. 

Daiki was just beginning to relax a little when some movement near Tetsuya caught his eye. To start with, he had stuck close to his friend’s side, but Tetsuya had always had a bothersome habit of wandering a little, as though trying to see how far he could go and still get away with it. It wasn’t anything to worry about, he figured, until he realized that the man he’d pegged as moving strangely had really no reason to be walking so close to Tetsuya. 

No reason at all, and when he saw the naked blade in the man’s hand, he simply did the first thing that came to mind—he threw himself forward and grabbed it. 

It cut his palm, almost down to the bone, but the pain of it only sharpened his focus. When the man turned to him, mouth opening in shock and outrage, Daiki took the opportunity to stop whatever he was about to say by grabbing his throat and taking him to the ground. 

Someone screamed something, then, but the words barely penetrated Daiki’s mind. Finding his hand already positioned over the man’s throat, he brought the other one up to pair them together and _squeeze_ . The man’s eyes bulged; he wheezed, face gone bloodless, and flailed an arm about— 

Too late, Daiki realized that reaching up to choke the stranger had left his knife hand free. A white hot pain blossomed in his side, then spread rapidly to his extremities. He gasped and let go, reaching to clutch at the knife which was buried in his side to the hilt. The man took this opportunity to slip out from under him, and began shoving his way through the gathering crowd to make his escape. 

Having lost track of the attacker, the red haze that had taken over Daiki’s thoughts began to lift, and he raised his eyes up in what felt like slow-motion to find Tetsuya’s. The prince’s face was taut and pale; he clutched at Daiki’s shoulders in a panic, mouth moving frantically, but Daiki’s ears seemed to have failed him, for he could make out nothing at all. 

He let go of the knife, and reached for Tetsuya, but his hands were slippery with blood, and with everything fading rapidly, he found it difficult to hold on. Were people screaming? Ah, but it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered except— 

“Good,” he managed to force out, focusing on Tetsuya’s face one last time. “You’re safe.” 

Then he collapsed, and knew no more. 

* 

Daiki awoke to find himself staring at an unfamiliar ceiling. The pungent scent of herbs immediately assaulted him; he snorted, once, then blew out a long breath, trying to clear his head. He was warm and comfortable, at least, on a bed far softer than the straw-filled mattress he used at home, and buried under thick, downy blankets. However, the simple act of moving hurt—there was a piercing pain radiating through his body from somewhere below his ribcage, and with a start, he recalled just how he had received that wound. 

“Ah, you’re awake, are you, lad?” said a voice from somewhere off to the side. With a great effort, Daiki tilted his head to follow it to its source. 

It was Kiyoshi who stood beside his sickbed, his face more lined than Daiki could ever remember it being. And there, resting by his good hand—squeezing it tightly between both palms, in fact, while he dozed with his head resting against the sheets, was Tetsuya, asleep in a chair that had been pushed right up by the side of the bed. Daiki flexed his fingers a little, wondering, and was almost shocked as he absorbed the soft, warm sensation of Tetsuya’s skin against his. 

Seeing where Daiki’s gaze had fallen, Kiyoshi quickly shushed him. 

“Don’t wake the little prince just yet,” he murmured. Then, as though he knew better than to tell Daiki, but had decided to anyway, he went on, “He’s been worried sick about you, you know. He even scared off all the healers when they went to bleed you—said you’d done _quite_ enough of that already, thank you. They’re not happy with him, I can tell you that, but...” He paused to smile a little, fondly, down at his charge, “no one argues with the little prince when he’s worked himself up into such a fury.” 

They were quiet for a while, then; Daiki amused himself in the meantime trying to imagine that. Eventually, he cleared his throat to speak—but his voice was too rough, and Kiyoshi went to fetched him a cup of water for it. 

Once he’d managed to drag himself up into a sitting position, and downed the water in a few long gulps—doing all of this, incidentally, without letting go of Tetsuya’s hands for a moment—he turned his gaze back to Kiyoshi, who was observing the two of them patiently. 

“How long... have I...” 

“Four days,” Kiyoshi said, as he drew up a chair beside the bed, next to Tetsuya’s. “That knife went deep. I almost thought...” He sucked in a breath through his teeth, and then gave a slightly-pained smile. “...well, let’s just say I’m glad you’re still with us, lad.” 

Daiki couldn’t help but agree—and yet somehow, the thought of dying while protecting Tetsuya didn’t bother him as much as it should have. He mulled that over for a while, and Kiyoshi was content to let him do so, studying the weave on the sheets, or the shadows on ceiling—looking basically anywhere except at their clasped hands. 

After another long while of listening to Tetsuya’s quiet breathing in his sleep, Daiki found his voice again. 

“Did you tell my da’...?” 

“I did,” said Kiyoshi, with a nod. He paused, then added, “He called you a fool boy without the good sense the gods gave a goat. And said that you ought to come home as quickly as you could.” 

Despite himself, that made Daiki smile a bit; there was no doubt that that message had come straight from the horse’s mouth. But he was quickly distracted, because Tetsuya had begun to stir, fingers twitching and shifting a little where they were entwined with Daiki’s. 

Kiyoshi cleared his throat, which had the added effect of dragging Tetsuya the rest of the way into consciousness, and then got to his feet. 

“I’ll leave you two alone now, shall I?” he said, briskly, and, without waiting for a response, showed himself out of the infirmary. A moment or two after the door had swung shut behind Kiyoshi, Tetsuya sat up abruptly, smacking his lips a little. 

He frowned, then his eyes went wide, as he saw that Daiki was sitting up and conscious. 

“You’re—you—“ he stammered, clutching at Daiki’s hand, hard enough to make it ache. 

Daiki couldn’t help himself—it was amusing, and possibly the first time he’d ever seen Tetsuya at a loss for words, too, so he chuckled a bit, hoarsely. 

“I?” he echoed, teasing. “Me?” 

Tetsuya scowled, but it was quickly overwhelmed by the brightest smile Daiki had ever seen on his face. He half clambered onto the bed, flinging his arms around Daiki’s shoulders and holding on tight. Though it made him wince, Aomine reached up with his good hand, patting the other awkwardly on the back... before giving up and hugging him too, squeezing as hard as he could. They stayed like that for a while, quiet and awkwardly affectionate, neither wishing to be the first to let go. 

At last, Tetsuya murmured, somewhere in the vicinity of his ear, “... You’re alive.” 

“Never miss a thing, do you?” Daiki replied—but in a strange quiet voice, as though they were sharing a secret. 

“I see your smart mouth is very much alive, as well,” Tetsuya remarked, nuzzling his nose along the other’s cheek. Then he took a deep breath, as though steeling himself for something. “... Now close your eyes. Lift your head up a bit, too.” 

“Why?” said Aomine, grinning, but he did it anyway. 

He felt Tetsuya’s breath against his lips just before it all made sense, and—yeah, it was definitely a good day for firsts. 

* 

It was almost two weeks before they let Daiki out of bed, and that was only because he seemed about ready to snap. Lying on his back doing nothing only suited him fine when it was by choice, and being confined to that stuffy little room was hell on earth when he’d much rather have been by Tetsuya’s side. 

Thankfully, on that day, Kiyoshi had arrived on the scene rather soon after Daiki had taken that blade to the hand, and apprehended the would-be killer before he’d escaped. (He’d fetched help, too, before Daiki could bleed out to a very ignoble death on the street.) 

The man turned out to be little more than a disgruntled citizen with a grudge and a poor sense of judgment. Turned down at an audience with the king, he had apparently decided to take out his frustrations on the most convenient member of the royal family, and given Tetsuya’s penchant for exploring the village unaccompanied, he was the obvious choice. Fortunately, that man was now rotting in the castle dungeons, and would presumably be making no further attempts on any princely lives. 

At any rate, given that he wasn't supposed to be moving around at all, he was very surprised when Kiyoshi showed up at the infirmary one day with a fine shirt and trousers folded over his arm, himself dressed in his full ceremonial plate armor. (It was actually rather impressive, seeing it this close up; Daiki tried not to look too star-struck.) 

"No time for questions," Kiyoshi had said, in a strangely terse voice. "Put these on, then come with me. You've been summoned for an audience with the king." 

"What for?" Daiki grumbled, though he was already pulling off his shirt awkwardly with his good hand. (Even Daiki wasn’t stupid enough to bring his attitude before the king.) 

Kiyoshi only smiled. 

“You’ll see.” 

The attire Kiyoshi had brought him was about as stiff and uncomfortable as he’d been expecting, with the high collar and the trousers that were so tight that they pinched at the groin. He sighed, mincing along behind Kiyoshi on their way to their throne room; his injury made his gait slightly awkward, but he managed well enough. 

When they arrived, the throne room was nearly empty. Apart from the king, the prince—well, the only prince who mattered to Daiki, anyway—a handful of knights, and a scribe with quill and parchment in hand, there was no one else to be seen. Daiki permitted himself a moment to wonder about the strangeness of it all before Kiyoshi prodded him in the small of his back, making him stumble a bit. 

“Go on, then,” he murmured. Still, Daiki hesitated, glancing back at his old mentor with wide, uncertain eyes. He didn’t think he’d ever felt anything remotely like fear before, not even when he’d grabbed the knife that that stranger had intended to bury in Tetsuya’s back, but this... this was something else altogether. 

At that moment, the king himself spoke. 

“Well, don’t just stand there,” he called, pushing himself to his feet. “Step forward.” 

So Daiki approached the throne— _gods_ , but it was a long walk up to the dais, how had he never noticed that?—and then knelt before it, keeping his eyes lowered respectfully, until the king took pity on him and said, “You may rise.” 

For a while after that, the king studied him in silence—though his eyes were kind, and perhaps twinkling a little with amusement. 

"Do you know why you're here today, boy?" he said, eventually, slightly gruff. 

Daiki looked round at the room, at everyone gathered—at the scribe taking notes, the knights in their ceremonial armor, and Tetsuya smiling at him nervously, standing at his father’s side. He swallowed, hard, and shut his eyes tight for a moment, before opening again. The scene had not changed—everyone was still watching him silently. 

“... I daren’t hope,” he said, at last, “for you’d all laugh if I was wrong.” 

At that, the king cracked a smile beneath his bristly moustache, which was peppered through with grey. 

“Well,” he said, shaking his head a bit, “you’d best start believing it. Truth be told, it’s not exactly _proper_ , but Teppei—and little Tetsuya here, too—appealed rather fervently on your behalf.” 

“ _Father_ ,” Tetsuya interjected, looking mortified. 

“Not to mention your heroics...” the king went on, tipping his head graciously in Daiki’s direction. “We are not ungrateful for the services you have rendered unto this kingdom… and our family, as well.” He paused for a moment, and then smiled. “Thank you.” 

“I’d do it again in a heartbeat,” said Daiki, without hesitation. “I would. For Tetsu—I mean—the prince.” 

The king chuckled. “Well, ‘tleast there’s no doubt you’re a brave one.” He gestured, then, to Kiyoshi, who had moved up closer and was currently standing where the other knights were gathered, looking on with mild interest. “Teppei, come over here and have him repeat the oath after you. Let’s get on with it, or we’ll be standing here all day.” 

Daiki’s throat was dry. This was the moment that he’d been waiting for... for what felt like his entire life. He wouldn’t need someone to whisper the words into his ear, either; he’d memorized them years ago, having asked his father—who, as always, humored him when it came to this—to recite them. 

He dropped to one knee, and bowed his head; the sudden movement stopped Kiyoshi in his tracks, and drew every eye in the room to him. 

“I swear,” he said, in a strong, clear voice which echoed through the hall, “on my honor to be ever faithful to my king, to serve justice unto those who would harm him, and be forever true and without deceit in his service.” 

A silence fell over the room, broken only by a soft gasp—Tetsuya, from the sound of it. Belatedly, but recovering gracefully from his surprise, the king drew the sword that was sheathed at his side, and raised it up to tap Daiki on the head with the flat of the blade. 

“And now, I dub thee ser Aomine.” He sheathed the sword again. “You may rise.” 

He did so, and those gathered brought their hands together; their applause filled the hall. Soon afterwards, the other knights dispersed; they’d come to observe the ceremony out of obligation, and once it was over, they were more than happy to return to their regular duties. 

All of them except one, anyway... who approached him quickly, the look on his face cool and business-like. He stopped in front of Daiki, and they stared at each other for a long moment, before they both burst into peals of laughter. 

“Well _done_ , lad,” Kiyoshi cried, clapping Daiki round the back so hard he stumbled. “I’m proud of you!” 

Daiki looked up at his teacher—his mentor—and was utterly horrified to discover his eyes were stinging. He looked away, quickly. “I couldn’t...” he tried, and then halted. “If it wasn’t for you, I’d...” 

“No need to say anything at all,” said Kiyoshi, cheerfully. Then he looked up. “Ah. Well, it looks like someone else wants to speak with you.” He elbowed Daiki in a brotherly sort of way, and then chuckled. “We’ll talk later, all right?” 

He slipped away, then, joining the king as he exited the throne room, leaving Daiki with the only other person who remained behind. There, in all his regal finery, standing just a few feet from Daiki, was Tetsuya. 

“Tetsu,” Daiki mumbled, suddenly feeling incredibly self-conscious with his childhood friend, in a way he never had before. 

“Father says you’ll be looking after me, now,” Tetsuya told him, calmly. “I hope it won’t grow tiresome, being by my side all the time.” He smiled a bit; Daiki stammered something incoherent, and then stopped before he made a bigger idiot of himself. 

They looked at each other for what seemed like ages, both quiet; Daiki hardly daring to breathe. 

At long last, Tetsuya broke the silence. 

“Are you hungry?” he asked. 

This seemed like an abrupt change of topics to Daiki, who only blinked. “What?” 

Tetsuya frowned at him, though in a playful manner. “ _Do_ keep up, Daiki. I asked if you were hungry.” 

Daiki reflected for a moment, and then shrugged. “I s’pose I could eat,” he said, uncertain. 

“Good,” said Tetsuya, and took Daiki’s arm before he had a moment to react, steering him forcefully in the direction of the kitchens. “Normally on a day like this they’d have a feast,” he said as they went, conversationally, “but they decided it ‘wasn’t necessary’ this time.” Tetsuya’s tone of voice showed, quite succinctly, what he thought of _that_ notion. “So I took the liberty of asking the cook to do up a little something, just for the two of us. I don’t think it will disappoint.” 

Daiki racked his brain for something clever to say—something more meaningful than ‘thank you’, yet not soppy—but came up empty. So he just linked his arm through Tetsuya’s, and then grinned as Tetsuya rested a cheek briefly against his shoulder. There was no need to rush things; he figured; he had plenty of time to find the words to say. 

After all, their life together was just beginning. 

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos are always appreciated! ^_^
> 
> *
> 
> Part one was posted on January 25th; part two was posted on Kuroko's birthday! :D


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